Music is the suture
Binding boundaries
Scars and seams and
The spaces between
Some songs
Hold my life together
Some are temporary
Patches of absurdity
Whatever brings you here
Thanks for listening
JB
My first guitar was given to me by my maternal grandmother. The story goes that she found it in a dumpster. I remember it was a sunburst hollow-body electric with no strings and unhealthy electronics. I would sing like a legend in my bedroom for thousands of adoring fans, shredding licks over empty frets and cranking up broken knobs. Later, the parents couldn’t agree about gifting me another guitar that made noise outside of my head or what universe it all might lead to. Welcome to a corner of that universe. Thanks dad, for noticing my love of music, encouraging it, and hunting down my first playable instrument. Thanks mom, for coming to my shows, cheering me on, and bailing me out when I needed it. Thanks grandma. I still hear you singing at your piano.